Tragedy

How will I tell my children?

A filthy drunk driver hit my wife's car head on.
How will I tell my children that their mother is gone?
My three children thought the world of their mother.
We were a close family and we sure did love her.

There is no cure for four hearts that are breaking.
I'm so tore up that I can't stop my hands from shaking.
That drunken bastard will probably get a slap on the wrist.
I want him to burn, you're looking at a man who is pissed.

I can't bear to see my kids faces or to see their hearts break.
This will surely destroy their lives, it's too much for me to take.
Something needs to be done about people who drink and drive.
If it wasn't for that drunk, the love of my life would still be alive.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is a fictional poem but sadly it's reality for many people.

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Titanic

People were frightened and they were bound to panic.
Over 1,500 people died during the crash of the Titanic.
It was supposed to be unsinkable but when it hit that iceberg, it went down.
It was a terrible tragedy when all of those people drowned.

It was traveling from Southampton England to New york City.
When we think about that sad situation, everybody feels pity.
It had watertight compartments and remotely watertight doors.
Sadly that very large ship was destined not to make it to shore.

About 700 people were all that survived.
The Titanic was rediscovered in 1985.
There weren't enough lifeboats, that's why those people died.
It was difficult for their friends and families to say goodbye.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

DEDICATED TO ALL OF THE INNOCENT PEOPLE WHO DIED ON APRIL 15, 1912.

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tags:

the line

here we stand again,
confused and feeling old.
Our young minds weary, our bodies cold.
Cold hearts that once, felt so warm,
now just old, forgotten stories.
Where does love begin? And can it ever end?
Is there a line, bordering on our minds?
Give me a time, a love, a sign,
and I'll be here till fates smiles,
a cruel demise or a sweet suprise,
but here we'll stop, I have to draw the line.
Don't cry those tears, we've already lost,
we knew from the start, but pushed on through,
Maybe one day we'll cross our line, but not this time...

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Primrose

I can smell all of the roses coming from the garden below me.
I have been endlessly sitting at this windowsill for days
just staring out down the street waiting for you to come back.
Sometimes in the moonlight I think I actually see you
and then I blink and you vanish into thin air.
I miss you so much my heart aches
and I can't help feeling like it is all my fault.
Why am I here now in this grand house while you are gone.
I can't seem to shake this pain that I am feeling inside.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Inspired by the Hunger Games – Katniss is thinking about Prim.

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Banquet for Good - Breathing the Light

On this, the final day of the month, we stand in awe of the Banquet for the Good.

We stand in small clusters, in our formal dress. We drink and slowly break the ice, all the while ignoring the absurdity of our presence in such a place for such an event. The colors are bright, as people are encouraged to do their best to stand out. The women are lovely in many different ways. Some of them are so alluring, while others simply make you feel shy. The food is great, and the drink is plentiful.

The performance hall, which houses this year's Banquet, is dimly lit and deeply awash in shadow. The walls are bathed in a very dark shade of blue. It is somehow mysterious and enticing, despite its simplicity.  The men and the women mostly stay away from each other, with only the occasional pair coupling up and separating from the collective.

In the center of the celebration is a colossal display. It has mostly been gawked at and then forgotten by a majority of the guests, but just as midnight comes upon us - the display begins to change. Originally a grand model depicting a single, closed hand; the structure suddenly springs to mechanical life... And the hand opens wide to its audience.

In the center of the display's palm is a beautiful sphere grafted directly into the metal. The sphere resembles an immense diamond with a perfect cut, and is surrounded in its place by a perfect gold ring. We all watch in curious silence as the sphere begins to glow with a faint white light. Slowly, the light becomes more and more pronounced and visible. Yet somehow, its brilliance does not brighten the room that contains it. Our eyes behold it, but it seems as if the light itself is still. And then, the light begins to reach to us.

Its form is strange and unheard of. It travels in the air above us, as something between tangible and intangible. As it extends itself beyond all recognition and toward all of us, many of us feel panic or fear. But no one is moving, or running. Everyone is simply watching, fascinated and unsure. The light finds its way to a lovely young woman with curly red hair. It pours over her and lingers, and with her eyes wide and her mouth closed, she is forced to breathe it in deeply.

At first breath, her eyes shut tight. She sits upright suddenly and rises to her feet, but stops. Her eyes open, and an expression of clarity and peace of mind falls upon her. In moments, she finds herself seated once more, only to breathe in the light deeper and deeper and as deeply as she possibly can.

Others see her, and cautiously attempt to mimic her. I do the same. As I breathe in the strange, living light, I feel nothing but warmth within me. I close my eyes instinctively, and allow my subconscious to reign. My mind fills with images of beautiful places, people and things. I can see myself dancing with every gorgeous woman that has ever crossed my mind for a second time, and I find myself smiling all the while.

As I feel myself return to my senses, I slowly open my eyes. All around me, my fellow guests are breathing the decorated air, and their faces are blissful and momentarily lost. The room itself feels lighter, more alive. I see my friends as they find their grins, and I feel happy. The light has spread far, but is not at all overwhelming. Some sit comfortably, breathing it continuously. Others are looking for company, and are leaving to seek out someone that may mean something to them soon.

I see a girl in a dress of aqua, and watch her for a moment. She sits alone, and seems content to simply breathe in the glow without a word to anyone. Besides the sphere and its light, she is the only thing that has stood out to me. Without thought, I stand and approach her.

She is very kind, and speaks to me as an equal. She is not upset by my intrusion upon her, and invites me to sit.

She tells me her name is Christina.

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I tell her that I think she's beautiful, and that I'm happy we have met.

She tells me that she wishes we could have met sooner.

I tell her that I feel the same.

We sit next to the display with our fingers intertwined. We watch each other closely as we speak. The light flutters about us, but we pay little attention to its advances. We talk about so many things and with every question answered, we feel our distance lessen. The evening begins to wind down, and we no longer have space between us.

We kiss.

We kiss again.

We stand, hidden away from those we may know, and dive into each other. We turn to whispering, hushing bodies of warmth beneath a place to shelter us. We feel love, but choose not to speak of it until later. We cannot keep from each other, and disregard the approaching footfalls.

There are now hands upon us -

Driving us apart -

Pulling us to our feet.

I see her for just a moment before the people she calls for carry her away.  Her face is dusted with tears, and her expression is that of hurt, and outrage. She shouts, but I cannot hear what she has said.

Someone strikes me, across the cheek. Another, to the back of my head.

I'm dragged to a room I've never seen before. So many people, many that I recognize, are all trying to hurt me. Boots come down upon me as I fight to stand. A familiar voice is screaming in a frantic daze. I hear insults tossed in my direction. I am called a traitor and a fool.

They speak of her; of Christina. They claim she is a whore, a blight, a ruinous witch that will only bring me despair and woe. Blood sprays from my mouth as I shout back, lost in anger and confusion. No one is listening to my words. They only strike me harder.

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After many hours, I find myself stumbling through a wide, arching doorway. In front of the performance hall, snow has claimed the Earth as its own. The tiny flakes of white continue to fall as I wander into the courtyard, falling to my knees and staring at the ground below. My head is aching... I can't seem to remember what I'm doing here.

The pain is so dull but so persistent.

Who did this to me?

I force myself to stand and continue walking. My jacket is torn and ragged, but the cold isn't bothering me at all. After losing track of my steps, I raise my eyes ahead and see a concrete path, forking in two directions and leading to two gates.

I remember now, this was the night of the Banquet. I met a girl.

Her name is Christina.

Arriving at the fork in the path, my mind is blank. My thoughts are still feeble and slow. My consciousness slips once more, and I stumble to the right. I fall hard, but am shaken from my doze. After picking myself up for the last time, I continue.

This gate leads me home, I think.

But then there is movement far to my left. On the opposite path, a young girl is walking. She wears a dress of aqua that has been torn and stained, and there are smears of lipstick up and down her neck. She looks shaken and afraid, but unharmed.

Instantly, my head is clear, and I raise my hand and call her name.

She stops and turns to me. I can see her face. There are tears in her eyes.

I call her name once more, as loudly as I can.

She waits only a moment longer, turns her gaze from mine, and disappears beyond her gate.

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I make no attempt to follow her, because the gate she has passed through is not made for me.

I pass through my own, and find that the other side was nothing more than empty space, waiting to be filled by her.

~ The End ~

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Inspirations for this poem include a song by No-Man called Beautiful Songs You Should Know, some cliche elements of Romeo & Juliet, and the love that I have to leave behind

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My Self

Never in the sixteen years that I exsisted, did I allow myself to be the first one to say, “I love you”. It could have been my lack of self-esteem, or my theory that the whole world hates me. It could have been a number of different things, but in his case, it was different. I'm sure it was for nothing other than the fact that he himself was what was different. He was so unlike any boy I had ever met, that I had ever had feelings for. With him, it was so much more than anything I've ever felt. He made my world rotate, my heart pound so rapidly it seemed as if the world would hear it. He made me smile, happy, he gave me the butterflies. I saw so much in him, still see so much in him. I know, without even the slightest doubt, that he will go somewhere. Be something. He was, and continues to be truely wonderful.




I broke up with my boyfriend, who I did, in fact, love because I knew I could never love him, or anyone else for that matter, as much as I loved this boy. As much as I still love him. I don't think those feelings will ever subside. Even as I grow older I can see exactly what I saw in him. Exactly what it was about him that made my knees week.




I would lie awake at night thinking of his captivating smile, and his sparkling eyes. I would wonder when I would see him next. Anticipate our meeting. I came to the conclusion that I would never be able to see him enough. I could wake up in the morning to see him, spend the whole day thereafter with him, and go to bed with his face being the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep, only to dream of him, and then wake up the next morning and live it over again. It still would not be enough. Not nearly enough.




To this day I wonder what I was thinking when I handed him that note. No, that's partly a lie. I was thinking that maybe if he knew how I felt about him, he could love me back. It was wishful thinking, nothing more. The letter that explained my love for him. It told him (indirectly of course) how vulnerable I was. How I wanted nothing more than to give him my whole heart. My soul. My love. I wanted to give him everything, and I didn't want anything in return. Except, that is, maybe his love. I wasn’t expecting anything from him. I wasn't stupid. I knew that he didn't feel the same way, but a girl can hope. Can't she? All I wanted was for him to know and still remain my friend.




I don’t think I ever saw him after that. Maybe once or twice, but merely by coincidence. Giving him that peice of papaer was probably the worst mistake I ever made. It was the worst mistake I've ever mad. He ran away from me, not in literal terms, but that is exactly what he did. And who could blame him? I'm me after all, and who could ever love me? I have never known that love, and I'm confident that I never will.




So here I sit, isolated, perched upon the swing that hangs in my back yard. I can hear the wind chimes that my mother hung singing softly as I stare up at the velvet night sky. It’s like they’re singing the song of my life, so melancholy and sad. The air is warm and breezy. The stars are shining vividly in the sky. I close my eyes and let the wind wash over my face and blow my hair around my face. The night is perfect, though not nearly as perfect as he is. The blade has made it’s home in my right hand and it is calling to me. Coaxing me to return to it after months of hiding. I run my finders over the smooth metal, preparing myself.




I give in. I have no other choice. What choice is there for a girl like me? I'm not pretty, or thin. I don't dress up or wear heals. Isn't that what a man wants? Hoping with all of my heart that I make just one cut deep enough to end it I put the blade to my vains. I press down hard, dragging the cold metal across my skin. The blood doesn't take it's time. It's dripping, running. It's beautiful. The more I hurt inside, the harder I press, the deeper I cut. I find myself crying silent tears as I watch the beautiful ruby blood splatter onto the dried up grass. Every drop bringing a deeper satisfaction. I'm not crying for my life. I don't want to live any longer. I'm crying because I can't have the one I love. I'm crying because I have accepted that I will never loved by anyone. I am worthless, I know that, so this is the best way.




I feel myself growing weary, dizzy even. The world is spinning now, all I can focus on is the razor slipping away from my grasp. It seems to fall to the ground in slow motion. And it almost makes me think I was never even holding it at all, but the blood flowing rapidly from my arm tells me otherwise. I stared at the one small silver, glinting corner that appears in the puddle of blood beneath me. And then, my sight startd to go black. I can no longer see fully. It seems to get darker and darker, the noise around me also fading like a train in the distance until, finally, the world disappears. And then, with one last shallow, shaky breath the world goes black. It was as if I never exsisted at all.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written for Self. He had my heart for so long.

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